Saturday, May 18, 2013


Custom made on an assembly line
An owl staring into the sunshine
A one-faced coin in a sea of head and tails
A sly serpent slithering away from its scales
I may be velvet in a cotton mill

A bird with clipped wings
Is a bird still..

Pierced by the fresh, the old gold inside turns to dust
Fresh sounds sound like noise from a damaged radio
Murder, victory, conquests, evolution
Love, power, revolution…
All algebra to my dyslexia

New tastes singe the soft tongue
Bring forth a liquid torrent from the drying eyes
Touched by new flames, I shrink like burnt paper
Retreating to the cold comfort of nostalgia’s cave

Cave of visions – broken mirrors – some bite, some excite
But the pain of stepping on them, I recognize

A medley of sunken sounds
Old songs with new meanings
Old poems smell as fresh as dew
Broken words fall from a string of meanings

I scurry after them like a bounty hunter
Afraid of losing the map to my treasure
Scared they too might desert me like my 4’am dreams

Memories wash me like hot water from a geyser
I am building a tomb:
Of unripened truths, baked myths and nascent mysteries

Pray, when finally exhumed
I am taken there to be buried
It shall be worthy of me
And I of it….